Celia Thaxter (b. 1836, d. 1894), whose maiden name was Laighton, was born in Portsmouth, N.H.  Much of her early life was passed on White Island, one of a group of small islands, called the Isles of Shoals, about ten miles from the shore, where she lived in the lighthouse cottage.  In 1867-68, she published, in the “Atlantic Monthly,” a number of papers on these islands, which were afterwards bound in a separate volume.  Mrs. Thaxter was a contributor to several periodicals, and in strength and beauty of style has few equals among American writers.  The following selection is from a volume of her poems entitled “Drift Weed.”

1.  I stood on the height in the stillness
     And the planet’s outline scanned,
   And half was drawn with the line of sea
     And half with the far blue land.

2.  With wings that caught the sunshine
     In the crystal deeps of the sky,
   Like shapes of dreams, the gleaming gulls
     Went slowly floating by.

3.  Below me the boats in the harbor
     Lay still, with their white sails furled;
   Sighing away into silence,
     The breeze died off the world.

4.  On the weather-worn, ancient ledges
     Peaceful the calm light slept;
   And the chilly shadows, lengthening,
     Slow to the eastward crept.

5.  The snow still lay in the hollows,
     And where the salt waves met
   The iron rock, all ghastly white
     The thick ice glimmered yet.

6.  But the smile of the sun was kinder,
     The touch of the air was sweet;
   The pulse of the cruel ocean seemed
     Like a human heart to beat.

7.  Frost-locked, storm-beaten, and lonely,
     In the midst of the wintry main,
   Our bleak rock yet the tidings heard: 
     “There shall be spring again!”

8.  Worth all the waiting and watching,
     The woe that the winter wrought,
   Was the passion of gratitude that shook
     My soul at the blissful thought!

9.  Soft rain and flowers and sunshine,
     Sweet winds and brooding skies,
   Quick-flitting birds to fill the air
     With clear delicious cries;

10.  And the warm sea’s mellow murmur
      Resounding day and night;
    A thousand shapes and tints and tones
      Of manifold delight,

11.  Nearer and ever nearer
      Drawing with every day! 
    But a little longer to wait and watch
      ’Neath skies so cold and gray;

12.  And hushed is the roar of the bitter north
      Before the might of the spring,
    And up the frozen slope of the world
      Climbs summer, triumphing.

XCIII.  RELIGION THE ONLY BASIS OF SOCIETY.

William Ellery Channing (b. 1780, d. 1842), an eminent divine and orator, was born at Newport, R.I.  He graduated from Harvard with the highest honors in 1798, and, in 1803, he was made pastor of the Federal Street Church, Boston, with which he maintained his connection until his death.  Towards the close of his life, being much enfeebled, he withdrew almost entirely from his pastoral duties, and devoted himself to literature.  Dr. Channing’s writings are published in six volumes, and are mainly devoted to theology.